


i want for what i love to go on living

by villagepsychic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/F, Marriage Proposal, Non-Linear Narrative, Romance, holiday au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21687157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villagepsychic/pseuds/villagepsychic
Summary: Love is such a fickle thing, Dorothea thinks. In its juxtaposition, in the way it drives urges into her fingertips to reach out and pull Petra as close to her as possible just as it pours an ache into the cavities of her heart that wants her to move away and take her lover in with her eyes, because Dorothea could never get enough of her. She could never get enough of Petra, not even if she tried.(In which Dorothea and Petra are journalists, and the holidays bring a lot more than just good tidings.)
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Comments: 11
Kudos: 70
Collections: FE3H Holiday Gift Exchange





	i want for what i love to go on living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HybriDefiant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HybriDefiant/gifts).



> happy holidays! fulfilling the fe3h holiday exchange for my lovely recipient, for whom i spent quite a bit of time wondering What the Hell I Should Write (but in a good way!). i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it!
> 
> title is from pablo neruda's _when i die, i want your hands on my eyes_. there is no actual dying in the fic, so don't worry. i just find the poem to be such a good testament of love. and, of course, songs i listened to while writing this include opera house by cigarettes after sex & two slow dancers by mitski.

_when i die, i want your hands on my eyes_

Petra’s eyes are bright, dancing in the glimmering glow of Dorothea’s mood lighting lamp. Her nose and cheeks are tipped pink from the cold, and she holds two covered cups of something smelling absolutely heavenly, and Dorothea thinks, _my girlfriend is a literal angel_. “I am having hot chocolate!” She says, clearly excited.

Dorothea is stressed beyond belief trying to get her editorial in before the deadline in three hours. It is ten pm, and even with the help of her lamp’s soft glow, she can feel her eyes strain from the laptop’s artificial light as a migraine starts to set in—so much for night mode, because the orange light doesn't help much either. Dorothea is tired, and ready to drop, and yet she can’t help her smile as she looks at Petra.

“We’re both having hot chocolate, aren’t we?” Dorothea jokes as Petra sets a cup down carefully next to her laptop. “Is the bakery still open?”

Petra yawns and collapses into a rolly chair left off to the side for no particular reason. Somehow, she manages to not spill her hot chocolate everywhere. “It is being just past closing time,” she informs Dorothea. “Ashe was the one to be letting me in.”

Dorothea hums, using the hot chocolate as a handwarmer for a few moments as she waits for the drink to cool down. “Ashe and Dedue are too kind, honestly.”

“I am not believing that there is any such thing as being too kind,” Petra says seriously. When Dorothea sneaks a glance away from her laptop to look at her girlfriend, her eyes are closed and her head is tilted back against the top of the chair. The warm glow of Dorothea’s lamp accentuates her cheekbones and softens the mark just under her right eye. She looks gorgeous in just sweatpants and a black jacket, her bag on the ground next to her.

Dorothea can’t believe it.

“You know,” she says slowly maybe three minutes later, after her tongue already feels raw from cautiously sipping at her hot chocolate. She flinches when Petra takes a gulp like it’s lukewarm and not scalding. “You don’t have to actually show up here until Thursday. It’s Tuesday, Petra.”

“It is almost Wednesday,” is all Petra says back.

“I’m telling you to get some rest,” Dorothea says. “You don’t have to be here right now. I was going to go home soon, anyway.”

“I believe,” Petra says, her brows pulling into a furrowed frown, “that I have cause to not be believing of that. I think you are… knowing, of how much you tend to be overworking yourself.”

Her voice is soft but a little forceful. Dorothea thinks that if there were any secrets to a happy relationship, one would be this ability to know when to draw the line, because Petra’s right—she’d be here for the next hour, or maybe few hours, or maybe into the early hours of the morning; however many hours it would take for her to finish this editorial. “I have a deadline, you know,” is all she says, and Petra opens her eyes to glance at her.

“Do not be worrying about that,” she says slowly. “I spoke to Edelgard. She will be extending the deadline for you.”

Dorothea blinks at her. “Wait, what?” 

“Edelgard had agreed with me that you are having too much on your plate currently,” she explains. “You are having until the end of tomorrow to finish your editorial.” Her eyes soften as she looks at Dorothea, and it turns a piece of her into mush. “I just want you to rest, Dorothea.”

Dorothea opens her mouth, and then closes it again. “You didn’t have to,” she says weakly.

Petra stands up and takes the few steps to where Dorothea sits. She leans down and tilts Dorothea’s chin up with just a finger—which, really, is partially because Dorothea’s always been too _willing_ with her—and leans down to press a soft kiss to her lips. Dorothea doesn't realize she’s shut her laptop and pushed it away from her until Dorothea feels some oppressive weight off her shoulders and Petra pulls away.

“We are going to be sleeping in,” she says firmly, and then she beams, and Dorothea is so, so in love. “And you will be okay with that, yes?”

Dorothea smiles back and takes her girlfriend’s outstretched hand. “You’re right, I suppose.”

They meet as interns in the Garreg Mach Organization’s Black Eagles paper, but that wasn’t exactly the most exciting first impression, and so Dorothea and Petra have a silent, mutually exclusive agreement not to use it as a _How We Met_ testimony.

The welcome party had been grand. Almost ball-like, with dancing and mingling and enough food to fill the bellies of maybe a hundred Dorotheas, if she tried hard enough. Edelgard had introduced Dorothea to Petra and Bernadetta near midnight—was it actually midnight? She can’t remember. What she does remember is pinching Bernadetta’s cheek and thinking Petra was definitely one of the most gorgeous girls she’s ever seen, but Dorothea was also piss-drunk by then and, in a fit of bad taste, spent most of her time hanging off a boy with fiery red hair and a certain glint to his eyes named Sylvain. She and Petra had awkwardly nodded at each other, and then moved on like it never happened. 

What they _do_ normally use is their meeting just two days later. Dorothea had taken up yoga classes as a way to get Edelgard off her back, because her best friend is kindhearted but overly attentive. She’d been a part of the Garreg Mach Organization for over two years, but Dorothea is new, coming from the far north to Garreg Mach once she finished her schooling, and Edelgard had been beyond happy to welcome her with wide-open arms.

Edelgard had her own friends by then too, of course, which Dorothea had teased her relentlessly about at first—something along the lines of _I thought you needed at least four years to get close to people?_ , but in reality, she’s proud of her best friend. Hubert is brooding and quiet but makes insightful comments layered in scathing criticisms from time to time, which is why Dorothea avoids having him be her editor as much as possible. There’s Ferdinand, who she thinks was put on earth to rival Edelgard’s every personality trait, and Linhardt, who writes objectively the best articles in their little group but always claims to be too exhausted to write anything more than he has to. She’s particularly fond of Caspar, who has way too much enthusiasm for everything he does.

She gets to know Bernadetta later, too, for being an intern typically means their time in the break room is normally spent grousing about upper management. Perhaps she’d get to know Petra that way as well, but Petra is usually swallowed by Ferdinand’s sheer monster of a work schedule; a fact that still stands today, although from what Dorothea knows, she’s all too happy to help Ferdinand out (Which she will never, ever understand). 

Anyway, back to the yoga class. It’s five-thirty in the afternoon, and Dorothea has just gotten off her shift, and her joints are _sore_ , and when she walks in to see Petra leading the small class in warm-ups, she stops. And then she stares.

And then she thinks about how her initial thought of Petra being just gorgeous was probably an understatement. There’s something about how they aren’t in a work environment added with the fact that Dorothea’s in a haze of exhausted euphoria, and Petra looks so stunningly _hot_ in black yoga pants and a purple sweater that hangs off her frame and matches her hair that she just can’t _not_ stare. She doesn't realize half the class is looking at her until Petra looks up and says, “Oh, hello Dorothea! Edelgard was telling me that you would be taking this class.”

Dorothea snaps out of it, and then immediately blushes. “Um, yeah,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear and adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “Is there—is there somewhere I could put this, maybe?”

“Lockers are being in the back room,” Petra says kindly, and Dorothea is oddly endeared by her grammar. She knows Petra’s immaculate about her English in writing and reading, and she struggles to get it all out when she speaks, but no one ever puts her down for it.

The rest of the class goes in another haze of Dorothea being purely focused on Petra, and Petra coming to help her out from time to time. She meets a sweet girl with short blonde hair who goes by Mercedes, and Annette, who has bright orange hair and way too much enthusiasm for a yoga class. When they go into a ten-minute meditation period, Annette tilts over multiple times and Dorothea has to stifle a laugh, getting her an irritated look from both Lorenz and Ferdinand. It’s nice, in all seriousness. The class takes her mind off things when she’s stressed, and she decides two weeks in that having Petra be her teacher definitely doesn't make things any worse.

(She gets Petra’s number afterwards, a result of her flirting going straight over Petra’s head before she chooses to resort to being blunt. Petra had stared at her, and then blushed with wide eyes and a stutter as she’d typed her number into Dorothea’s phone multiple times because she’d gotten it wrong at least thrice, and Dorothea had smiled at her as sweetly as possible and said, _I’ll text?_

 _You can be texting me any time you like_ , Petra had said cheerfully, and Dorothea had thought her smile was blinding.)

Dorothea isn’t a full-blown romantic, of course. She supposes the real world beats the cynical facts of life into certain people, and maybe she just happened to be one of them—but the truth of it is, she knows pain, and she’s seen heartbreak. Really, what she pursued with Petra at first was supposed to be nothing but lighthearted. If she thinks about it hard enough, it wasn’t supposed to be anything serious.

Maybe that’s just how love works, she thinks. It’s the kind of thought that would make her cringe, but whenever she dwells on it, she can’t help her smile and the odd ache in her chest.

_i want the light and the wheat of your beloved hands / to pass their freshness over me one more time / to feel the smoothness that changed my destiny._

`**edelhresvelg** : Alright, so the banquet starts at six pm. They're catering for dinner, and we have a table reserved for ourselves. There are other news groups coming there as well, so make sure to look prim and proper, everyone! :)`

`**fvonaegir** : Edelgard, you tell us this every single year like we don't already know how it works`

`**edelhresvelg** : As your leader, I believe it's my job to properly inform you of things before they happen.`

`**casparbergliez** : that's taking the whole leadership thing a little too seriously i think`

`**edelhresvelg** : :(`

`**hvestra** : Caspar, do not be rude to Edelgard.`

`**edelhresvelg** : Thank you, Hubert :)`

`**casparbergliez** : hey thats unfair why arent u going after ferdinand too??`

`**bernvarley** : they're in love`

`**fvonaegir** : That's just him showing how much he loves me!`

`**casparbergliez** : you guys sent that at the same time and i dont like it`

`**edelhresvelg** : Can I please get all the requirements and stuff out before the chat descends into a mess again?`

`**doronault** : Lol go ahead Edie just ignore the background noise (Caspar)`

`**edelhresvelg** : Thank you, Dorothea. Essentially we're going to be sitting next to the Golden Deer and Blue Lions. Dinner comes first, and desserts are served during the speeches. Formal attire would be preferred. Caspar you are NOT allowed to wear sneakers.`

`**bernvarley** : oh i was going to wear sneakers.........`

`**edelhresvelg** : Very well. You can, since it fits your aesthetic. Caspar cannot.`

`**casparbergliez** : THIS IS SO RUDE. THIS IS ACTUALLY SLANDER`

“Guys, I want you to remember one thing for sure this holiday season,” is what Edelgard says as she lugs three boxes of doughnuts to leave on the table next to the entrance. Both Caspar and Bernadetta cheer at the sight, and Linhardt startles awake with a noise of surprise. “We aren’t going to say _Merry Christmas_ , alright? We’re going to say _Happy Holidays!_ Respect religious beliefs, everyone!”

“Or lack thereof,” Hubert drawls from where he sits on the other side of the table, nursing what Dorothea knows is most likely a cup of horrifyingly strong black coffee. Ferdinand sits next to him, sipping his green tea as he scrolls through his phone, and he casts a sidelong glance at Hubert when he says that. There’s no judgement in his gaze, of course.

Edelgard nods firmly, taking her gloves off and shoving them into the pockets of her heavy winter jacket. As she hangs her coat up on the rack, she says, “Exactly, Hubert. Some people may not enjoy the holidays as many of us do, so let’s all try to respect this, okay?”

“I thought upper management was keeping the Christmas stuff,” Linhardt drawls. “Anyway, try to keep quiet, Caspar? I’m attempting to get some rest.”

“Linhardt, I know for a fact that you got a full ten hours of sleep last night,” Edelgard points out. “But you’re right. Upper management _did_ want to keep all the religious connotations in—at least, until Claude and I marched up to them and conducted a meeting and got them to be inclusive.”

“Edie,” Dorothea says proudly, “you really are the best.”

“Unfortunately, you’re going to have to show a little gratitude towards Claude,” Edelgard says nonchalantly, waving it off, but there’s a small smile on her face. “I believe Dimitri was originally going to join in as well, but decided to sit out.”

“Which is why he’s the worst out of you three,” Ferdinand says cheerfully.

Edelgard laughs. “Perhaps. That’s all subjective, though, really.”

Petra chooses then to come in, her eyes widening when she spots the doughnuts. She’s wearing a button-down half tucked into her black jeans, and her hair’s immaculately braided. “We are having food?”

Edelgard rolls her eyes. “You’re rarely ever late, Petra. Don’t you come with Dorothea?”

Caspar makes a few obscene kissing noises, and Dorothea turns to give him a dry glare. “Petra went out for a jog and told me to leave without her,” she says for her girlfriend, and Petra nods.

“I was getting too ahead of myself,” she says. “I was running for much longer than I was expecting to.”

Edelgard smiles. “Alright. I’ll let you off the hook just this time. Everyone can grab a few doughnuts if they would like!”

Of course, Caspar, predictably, rushes to the front of the small line.

“Hello, Dorothea,” Edelgard says later, pulling her off to the side. Dorothea is about to brace herself for something mediocre-to-bad, before Edelgard bursts into a smile. “I just would like to say that your editorial for last week was beyond amazing! It got a really good reception, you know.”

Dorothea can’t stop her wide grin. “This makes me so happy to hear,” she breathes. “Do you _know_ how hard I worked on that, Edie?”

Edelgard laughs and then pulls her into a quick hug, and Dorothea dwells on the fact that she used to not be able to touch anyone for more than a few moments. Her best friend really has grown, hasn’t she? “I’m so sorry for putting you through all that. I hope the deadline extension helped?”

She thinks about how Petra woke her up that morning, and then wills away a blush. “Um, yeah. It was—uh, real helpful. Yes. Exactly.”

Edelgard just blinks at her. “What?”

“It’s nothing,” she rushes. She makes eye contact with Petra, who cheerfully waves at her from where she’s sitting with Caspar and Ferdinand, Caspar shoving half a jelly-filled doughnut in his mouth and talking loudly through his food while Ferdinand looks on with a grimace. “Don’t worry about it.”

Edelgard squints at her, and then shakes her head. “Sometimes I don’t understand you, Dorothea.”

“In this case, thank goodness for that,” Dorothea says, and Edelgard giggles.

Work is always easy near the end of the week, thanks to Edelgard’s ridiculous work scheduling from Sunday through Wednesday. She gets a few moments with Petra, who drags her to her cubicle past Ashe and Lysithea with a small smile on her face. The house she shows Dorothea is quaint, but homey. Scrolling through the pictures—the two bathrooms, the teal walls of the master bedroom, the finished basement—Petra’s practically holding her breath. “Are you liking it?” She says once she’s done. Her voice is quiet and uncertain.

“Petra,” Dorothea says softly, “it’s really, really beautiful. _And_ it’s affordable. You like it, right?”

Petra nods her affirmation, and Dorothea stands there for a few moments, dwelling on it. Dwelling on a chance to settle down officially with her girlfriend of three years and a half now. The thought makes her stomach drop out, but in a good way; the kind of feeling one would get during their first kiss, or on their favorite rollercoaster. A new step, she thinks. A new step for the both of them.

“You know, I like it too,” she says, and Petra looks up at her with wide, hopeful eyes. Dorothea would kiss her if there weren’t rules against public displays of affection in the office—she’d do it anyway, really, but Petra shares cubicle walls with Lysithea and Lorenz, and unfortunately that wouldn’t turn out too well. “Let’s favorite it for now and talk about it later, okay?

Petra visibly brightens, and Dorothea laughs. “Of course! We will be talking about this after work today!”

Dorothea thinks _fuck it_ , and leans in to press a kiss to her forehead, damn the rules. “Of course, Petra.”

_i want you to live on while i wait for you, asleep / i want for your ears to go on hearing the wind / for you to smell the sea that we loved together / and for you to go on walking the sand where we walked._

`**lhevring** : hey, do we need to stay at the party until it ends?`

`**edelhresvelg** : Well, there’s going to be an actual banquet and some speeches at the end, so yes. It would be preferred.`

`**lhevring** : ugh. ill think about it`

`**casparbergliez** : LIN NO!!!! U NEED TO COME`

`**hvestra** : Linhardt, your presence there is important, as you wrote some of the best articles of the year.`

`**edelhresvelg** : Honestly, I’d like everyone to be there. I’d let you go if it were an emergency, Linhardt, but I know you just want to get some more sleep in.`

`**lhevring** : wow. i’ve been figured out.`

`**pmacneary** : Linhardt we are all wishing for you to be there!!!!`

`**casparbergliez** : lin if u don’t come i’ll beat u up`

`**lhevring** : damn. i said i’d think about it okay`

`**doronault** : This means you’re coming for sure. we’re all coming!`

`**bernvarley** : im excited for it, you guys ^^;;`

`**lhevring** : i suppose i’m excited for it too. since you all seem hellbent on making me come.`

`**pmacneary** : Yay!! Linhardt will be coming!!!`

`**casparbergliez** : thats what she said`

`**edelhresvelg** : Caspar, this is a professional channel.`

`**casparbergliez** : well if this were professional would we really be talking about lin’s sleep schedule`

`**lhevring** : he makes a good point, edelgard.`

`**edelhresvelg** : ...I suppose you two are correct.`

The jewelry shop is built into the city’s mall, just off of Garreg Mach grounds. It’s overly fancy, with warm lighting and inviting lights in the displays providing some weird sort of ambient contrast as some people linger on the watches and necklaces. Dorothea hovers near the sunglasses for a moment, silently judging whether or not the magenta sunglasses would be too much compared to her skin tone or not before she finds her resolve and makes her way towards where all the rings are.

She’s come here a whopping three times before, with the same goal of settling on one thing. The same green-haired man is standing off to the side, a book laid out on top of the display case, and when he catches sight of Dorothea he takes his reading glasses off and smiles. “Good to see you here again.”

Dorothea smiles at the man, whose name tag reads _my name is Seteth!_ in big, bold letters. “Sorry to bother you.”

He waves her off. “We’ve had people come in so many times that we had to ask them to choose something. As in fifteen times, at least. It’s quite horrifying.” He gets a faraway look in his eyes as he says, “Once, someone came here twenty-four times. Shamir over here kept count.”

She knows Shamir. The intimidating woman works at Garreg Mach as well, but they never see each other. At the mention of her name, Shamir looks up from where she’s extracting a watch from the case and nods grimly at them, and both Seteth and Dorothea laugh.

“So, what color would you like to start with today?” Seteth says a moment later. “White gold, perhaps?”

She considers it for a moment. “Actually, let’s go for rose gold first.”

This is a hard decision to make, she knows. It’s one that makes her feel as though all the breath is being repeatedly punched out of her, and not because she doesn't know what color Petra would like for her ring—it’s the concept of being the one to ask that kills Dorothea. They don’t have a specific dynamic in their relationship when it comes to who does what, save for the fact that Petra sits somewhere directly in between the jock-nerd archetype and Dorothea hovers somewhere near prep, and they’re both fairly extroverted (In taking the Myers-Briggs test a few years ago, Dorthea had gotten ENFJ and Petra had gotten ENTP. She doesn't know why she still remembers this). 

But asking Petra to—to _marry_ her. The thought sets off a few tornados in her stomach, and she finds herself zoning out as Seteth takes a few sets out to set on top of the display case. “This one would fit her eyes well,” he says, jerking her back to present reality as he points at one. It has a smaller, thinner band, almost fragile as she picks it up. There’s a small, shiny ruby set in a clawed handle. The beauty of it takes her breath away, and she stares at it for a few moments.

 _It would suit her skin tone_ , Dorothea thinks. She’s shown a picture of Petra to Seteth before, so she knows he’s aware of it as well. He’d nodded and said, _She looks like a keeper, doesn't she?_

She does. Petra does, and Dorothea wants to give her this ring and throw a wedding and get _married_ to her so bad it might as well physically ache. The thought is so cheesy it almost makes her wince as she holds the ring in her hand and stares down it.

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathes. “I’m surprised no one’s bought it yet.”

“Well,” Seteth starts. “It _is_ pretty expensive.”

“Of course it is,” Dorothea mutters underneath her breath, and Seteth chuckles. She doesn't even want to think about whatever price tag there might be on this anyway, because she’s only window shopping. The chances of her actually buying a ring anytime soon are extremely small.

At least, that’s what she tells herself.

“I’ll be here forever if I let myself overthink everything,” Dorothea bemoans after a few minutes of looking at other rings, the original rose gold one sitting off to the side after she asked him to leave it there. He gives her a knowing look every time she catches herself staring at it whenever he takes something new out. 

Shamir comes by with some keys, grabbing a white gold bracelet for another customer. She raises her eyebrows at Dorothea. “Hey. It’s a hard decision to make, you know.”

Dorothea pushes her hair away from her face and sighs. “Have you ever had to propose?”

Shamir shrugs as she rings up the customer, who politely stares down at her phone. “Well, yeah. To my wife. Catherine, you know her?”

She does. Catherine works at Garreg Mach too. “Yeah, I do. I didn’t know you guys were married.”

“Hm, yeah. Everyone assumes she’s the one who proposed, but it was me. I did it in our apartment. She cried for, like, three hours afterwards.” Shamir’s smile is quiet in the following few moments of silence. “The quiet, private proposals are always the best, let me just tell you. Some mood lighting, in the kitchen making dinner—it makes for some real nostalgic memories, you know? None of that _proposing in front of a thousand people_ bullshit. Swear to god, that shit is so overrated.”

“Language, Shamir,” Seteth says disapprovingly, and Dorothea giggles at the face Shamir makes while the receipt prints.

“Whatever. You get my point. You want a bag?” She asks, directing her question at the customer, who shakes her head and picks up the small box and waves her goodnight, heading out of the store. There are only two other people, all hanging around and browsing things, and Dorothea thinks she should probably head home soon, because it’s her turn to make dinner, and Petra’s probably wondering where she is. 

She looks at the ring again. _A quiet proposal._ A quiet proposal, she could do.

Maybe. Dorothea will figure it out.

Seteth leans his elbow on the display case, chin in his hand as he picks the ring up again. “So, are you going to make a decision tonight?”

Shamir’s looking at her expectantly, a small smile playing at her lips. Seteth has his eyebrows raised, and Dorothea stares at the ring.

“You know what?” Dorothea says, mourning her poor wallet. “Let’s do it. This’ll be my final decision.”

It’s a final decision in many ways, if she thinks about it hard enough. But it’s a good kind of finality; the kind that lifts her heart into something light and floating as she says goodbye to Seteth and Shamir after paying for the ring, opening the door and stepping into cold night air. Her breath puffs out in front of her, and Dorothea loses herself in the moonlight.

If anything, this might’ve been the best decision she’s ever made.

(“Where were you being?” Petra whined when Dorothea walks into their apartment with the box secured in her purse. Petra is _respectful_ and would never go through her purse without asking first, but Dorothea will find another place to put it. Soon. 

“Sorry, had to go run an errand for Ferdie,” she lies, wincing at the bad taste it gives her. And then she looks at Petra, who’s sprawled out over the couch in nothing but one of Dorothea’s purposefully oversized sweaters and shorts, her hair partially undone as she watches _Mulan_ , and feels the strongest urge to kiss her.

As if she can read her mind, Petra side-eyes her and scowls playfully. “You cannot be kissing me until you are making dinner.”

Dorothea rolls her eyes with a laugh. “You could’ve just ordered takeout if I took too long, you know.”

Petra yawns. “But your cooking is being amazing.”

“I’m sure you’d be the only person to say that,” she says. 

Later, as they eat at their somewhat sorry excuse of a dining table, Dorothea thinks back to Shamir’s words. _Some mood lighting, in the kitchen making dinner—it makes for some real nostalgic memories, you know?_

She almost proposes that night, but it’s much too soon. Dorthea knows Petra isn’t going anywhere, so she’s okay with waiting for now.)

_i want for what i love to go on living / and as for you, i loved you and sang you above everything / for that flower, flowering one._

Petra wears a black pantsuit that seems like it was made to specifically fit her form perfectly, and she wears a deep red fuzzy jacket that hangs off her shoulders. Her violet hair is in its usual elaborate braiding, and her eyes are accentuated by the smoky black eyeliner she’s put on. She smiles when Dorothea gapes at her for a full ten seconds. “You are liking what you are seeing?”

“Absolutely,” Dorothea breathes, and Petra giggles. “Actually, I have a few complaints.”

Petra raises an eyebrow as Dorothea stands to position them at the tall mirror in their hallway. Petra had jokingly called her vain when she bought it at a nearby flea market, but Dorothea swears she catches Petra staring at herself as she passes it by on the way to their room more times than she’s ever done the same. 

“Complaints?”

“Yeah,” Dorothea says. “For one, _how_ do you pull off pantsuits so well? It should be illegal! Also, you should wear makeup more often.”

Petra throws her head back and laughs, and Dorothea not-so-subtly stares at the arch of her neck. “Well, I was spending a lot of time looking for one,” she admits. “And makeup has never been of my style, and you are knowing of that.”

“I guess you’re right,” Dorothea says glumly. “Fine, fine. You _should_ wear makeup more often, still. Like when we go on dinner dates, or something.”

“I will be thinking about it,” Petra concedes as Dorothea heads back into their room to grab her own coat. She’s wearing a deep red turtleneck and sleek black pants, her own stiletto heals waiting by the door (she isn’t going to put them on until she absolutely has to). Her own fuzzy coat is black, and so she and Petra match perfectly. The sight of them together puts a smile on her face, and she can’t resist pulling her girlfriend in for a kiss at the door.

The drive to the holiday banquet, just off Garreg Mach’s main building, is filled with Petra playing her R&B music as she drives, nodding her head and keeping one hand on the steering wheel while the other stays on Dorothea’s thigh and rides up too far jokingly a few times. It’s downright freezing when they park and step out, Dorothea scowling at the truck next to them because of the close proximity, and they hurry inside together. Petra nearly trips and Dorothea attempts to hold in her laugh and fails at the wide-eyed look on Petra’s face, and her girlfriend punches her shoulder with way too much force in response. “I am missing my old home,” she whines, shivering as they step inside. “It’s always so _cold_ here.”

“You should try heading up to where Felix and Sylvain live,” Dorothea snorts. “It’s so freezing up there that I thought I got frostbite once when I was staying at Sylvain’s. The one time I was doing a story up north, remember?”

“The one about historical artifacts?” Petra inquires, her teeth practically chattering, and when Dorothea nods, she laughs. “You were calling me those days and only complaining, I remember.”

“Well,” Dorothea says. “ _You_ ’ _re_ complaining now, so who’s really winning? Not you, I know.”

Another punch to her shoulder, and this time, Dorothea just glares at Petra, who glares right back before leaning in to kiss her cheek.

The banquet happens at a convention center cleared out just for them, and already people are mingling around, waiters and waitresses handing out small glasses of champagne. Dorothea takes one as a waiter passes her by and Petra politely refuses, plucking the glass out of Dorothea’s hand after a few small sips and narrowing her eyes at her. “You cannot be drinking _already_ , Dorothea.”

“Not even one more sip?” Dorothea complains, and Petra just shakes her head.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Sylvain greets cheerfully from behind Dorothea, and they turn around to see him in a black, flowy dress shirt with the top two buttons open, revealing a little bit of his chest, and Dorothea rolls her eyes. He already has his own glass of champagne, and at his side stands Ingrid, who wears her own white dress shirt and black pants, her hair tied in a low bun. “Dorothea, you are looking as _gorgeous_ as ever.” He levels a wink at Petra. “You too, Petra.”

“Ugh,” Dorothea jokes. “I was hoping I wouldn't have to see you tonight.”

Sylvain pulls her into a hug with a laugh, throwing a loose arm around Petra as he says, “Your girlfriend here is _so_ rude to me, Petra, you know that?”

“Don't worry. I am giving her explicit permission for being rude to you,” Petra says cheerfully, and Sylvain gasps in shock as Ingrid and Dorothea both laugh.

“Petra! To think that I thought we _had_ something.”

“You look positively stunning, Ingrid,” Dorothea says appreciatively, effectively leaving her girlfriend in the dust with Sylvain, and the blonde girl flushes a light red.

“Coming from you, that means a lot,” Ingrid replies. “You look amazing!”

Dorothea just _loves_ Ingrid. “Did you actually come with Sylvain as your date tonight?”

At this, Ingrid's face immediately scrunches up into an embarrassed frown, and Dorothea can't help her laugh. “I—no, that's not it. This is a _banquet_ , not some dance.”

“Mhm, sure,” Dorothea says in a faux knowing tone, and Ingrid scowls at her. “I'm sure he wouldn't mind.”

“Stop that,” Ingrid mutters, scowling, and Dorothea drags her into a hug as she laughs.

The banquet is almost over-the-top fancy, in the flower stands set up at every table and the orchestra music playing while people get settled down, even though there's still a full fifteen minutes until the banquet is supposed to start. The buffet's already set up, and Petra spends half the time until six just staring at all the food. Surprisingly enough, they're the first ones there, and Edelgard rushes in with Hubert, Ferdinand and Bernadetta in tow five minutes before the buffet opens up.

“Sorry,” Edelgard says, pushing her hair behind her ears. It's out of its typical bun and spills over shoulders and down her back, and she wears a red suit coat and black pants that make her look unsurprisingly intimidating. “We were on track before Caspar called us. He was freaking out because he couldn't find Linhardt.”

“Of course, Linhardt had just holed himself up in his study,” Hubert mutters under his breath. He looks mildly uncomfortable in his suit, and Ferdinand seems as though his own suit was made for his form, relaxing into his seat immediately—and, of course, Bernadetta's wearing her trademark sneakers and a black dress, tucking her short purple hair behind her ears as she greets them both and sits down next to Petra.

In all seriousness, the dinner party, or banquet, or whatever—it's somehow even more fun than it was last year (although perhaps that isn't saying much, judging by the way both Petra and Linhardt had fallen asleep barely five minutes in). Maybe it's because Linhardt and Caspar come _way_ later than expected, just as the food's about to be put away to be replaced with dessert, and Caspar almost freaks out. Or maybe it's because Sylvain and Felix come over to badger (read: Sylvain's doing all the _badgering_ ) Dorothea and Petra into a proper conversation—“ _This_ is my actual date, by the way,” he laughs, and Dorothea gives Felix a pitying look. The other boy just purses his lips and glares at the back of Sylvain's head, but she can tell there's some sort of fondness in his eyes too.

So it's fun. She catches sight of both Shamir and Catherine together, both of them also wearing pantsuits (“Is this the custom for all girl couples?” Petra inquires curiously, and Dorothea laughs), and Byleth, the only upper management staffperson she can stand, stands off to the side and observes everyone with a neutral look on his face, as per usual. Seteth manages to drag a mostly unwilling Felix into conversation, and Sylvain somehow manages to chat up an only mildly terrified Bernadetta.

Even the speeches given by upper management's staff aren't half-bad, save for the lulls in between. Linhardt spends half the time quietly criticizing some of the staff's words as Edelgard energetically nods and Hubert sips at his glass of water. Caspar kicks his feet up onto the table at one point, and Ferdinand gasps, shoving his legs back down immediately, making Caspar hiss and slap his shoulder—which makes a couple people at the Golden Deer table look over, including Claude and Hilda, who both shake their heads in mock disappointment. 

Byleth's speech goes like this: “I was told to say something interesting,” he says in his flat tone, and everyone laughs. “Well, I suppose I achieved what I came here for. Happy holidays, everyone.”

“I love that man,” Linhardt announces to no one in particular. “I love and appreciate that man so much.”

There's something still holding Dorothea back from fully immersing herself in the experience, though, and she knows what it is. Petra drags her across the banquet hall to take pictures and talk to mutual friends like Ashe and Leonie, but Dorothea periodically feels that same wave of anxiety washing over her every time her thoughts so much as brush the topic she wants to address when they get home. Petra's always been awfully observant, but if she notices anything she doesn't ask Dorothea about it.

She hasn't told anyone what she plans to do yet. Not because of any sort of paranoia or anything—she just wants it to be a secret between her and Petra, if Petra says yes. _If Petra says yes_. What a terrifying thought. 

But Dorothea isn't a pessimist. She knows Petra loves her just as much as she loves Petra... it's just a matter of getting around to actually asking her.

“Okay, you have to be telling me what's going on,” is what Petra says as soon as they enter their apartment a few hours later, after Caspar and Linhardt had passed out and Bernadetta had tiredly volunteered to take them home, Edelgard letting them have the next few days off. Petra has a worried little frown on her face that Dorothea wishes she could lean over and kiss until her lips turn up into a smile, but she knows she can't do that yet. “You seem sad.”

“I'm not, really,” Dorothea promises, her heart jumping into her throat. “I just—well, um. I've had some things on my mind.”

Petra sets her bag down on the counter and tilts her head to the side. “What is being on your mind?”

 _Moment of truth_ , a quiet, immature voice whispers in the back of her mind, and Dorothea freezes up. She didn't realize—well, she knew it would be _difficult_ , but something about the way Petra looks particularly intimidating tonight, her eye makeup only slightly smudged as she stares at Dorothea—it makes a part of her want to push it off until the morning, or tomorrow night, perhaps. She almost says _It's nothing, really_ , but the blatant lie gets stuck in her throat.

She can't lie to Petra. She also can't keep pushing this back like it's some hurdle to attempt jumping over later; she _wants_ to propose to Petra. Dorothea wants to marry her, and buy the small house they've been tentatively talking about for the past few weeks—she wants the stupidly domestic life she used to constantly criticize for it's superficiality, because Dorothea knows now that it's nothing _close_ to superficial, what they have.

“Dorothea...?” Petra starts hesitantly, and Dorothea blinks as she realizes she and Petra have just been staring at each other. 

“God, sorry,” Dorothea says, dragging a hand over her face as she pushes her hair away from her eyes. And then she steels herself and says, “Can you just wait right here for a moment?”

Petra blinks owlishly, looking confused, but she says, “Sure? I can be waiting.”

“Thank you,” Dorothea breathes, before spinning around on her heel and rushing into their room. She doesn't even hesitate as she slides their shared closet open, pushing past her side with all of the clothes on the hanger and reaching into the pocket of the second-to-last article of clothing—a small dress she's been meaning to donate for almost a year now. “Probably a terrible place to put this,” Dorothea mutters under her breath as she steps back out of the closet and closes it, quickly making sure she doesn't look absolutely terrible in the mirror before shoving the red-and-gold embroidered box into her purse. And then she stops, and takes a few breaths of anticipation, attempting to calm herself down and ultimately waiting.

Petra is still waiting in the same spot where Dorothea left her, scrolling through her phone. She automatically turns it off and leaves it on the counter next to her bag, fixing her hair as she watches Dorothea carefully. “What were you going to be showing me?”

Dorothea inhales and exhales slowly one more time. She belatedly realizes she didn't really plan out a speech as she says, “Petra... you're so important to me, you know that?”

Petra wrinkles her nose in utter confusion at the random profession, and Dorothea finds herself blushing. _Fuck_. For someone who used to be praised by the heavens itself for her flirting skills, she can't believe the ground's being pulled from under her feet now that she's actually trying to profess something that's been real for years. “I am feeling the same,” Petra says slowly. “You are knowing that. But why are you saying this now?”

“Because—” Dorothea pauses, stepping a little closer to Petra, who raises an eyebrow. “Okay, this is harder than I thought it would be. But you—you're so important to me, and you've been the center of my universe for so long that sometimes I barely remember what I was like before we met.” She pauses, noting the blush already making its way onto Petra's face. “And you know, maybe that would've annoyed me a few years ago, but I'm content with it, because it's _you_.”

“Dorothea—” Petra starts, but Dorothea shakes her head.

“No, baby,” Dorothea says softly, and Petra blushes harder at the petname. “I... I need to finish, or else I'm never gonna get it out. It's just—there's no way I could've seen us being together for so long like this, because I've never been one for long-term relationships, you know? And you didn't _change_ me—I know that's so cliche. You just made me a better person.” Petra is already tearing up, and Dorothea feels an ache in her chest bloom at the sight. “You stop me in my tracks whenever I start to overwork myself. You always wake up way too early to go out jogging no matter what the weather is, and you make me breakfast. You always check up on me when I'm going through my migraines. I don't think you understand how... how much that means to me.”

Fuck, she's tearing up too, judging by the way her eyes burn and her throat's closing up of its own accord. Petra looks like she wants to gather Dorothea up into a hug but lets Dorothea continue.

“In turn, I like to think I help you a lot too,” Dorothea offers, and Petra nods quickly. “When you get stuck on a project, you always close yourself off and sometimes I have to be the one to drag you back to the real world. Sometimes you overwork yourself. You rarely get sick, but when you do, it's intense, and I always try to be there for you. I think being in a long-term relationship has everything to do with making sure you know how to burn the candle from both ends, and everything about the little things, too, do you know what I mean? It's why I want to... why I want to...”

Dorothea's voice finally fails her, cracking embarrassingly, and she clamps her mouth shut, letting herself drop to one knee as she takes the box out of her bag and opens it, her tears blurring her vision as Petra makes a loud, unintelligible noise and physically jumps. “Dorothea! When did you—when were you having.. the amount... I—”

Dorothea can't help her wet laugh at the way her grammar failed her too as Petra slides down to stare at her, eyes wide. “Few weeks ago,” she says, sniffling and holding in a sob as tears slip down Petra's cheeks, and _God_ , this is not how she was expecting this to go at all. “I kept it in the closet, but that isn't the point. I—Petra, will you... will you marry me?”

“Oh my god,” Petra says under her breath, looking more than a little freaked out. Her eye makeup is completely ruined, and Dorothea can wager hers are, too, but Petra still looks devastatingly gorgeous, somehow. “I'm... _of course_ , Dorothea. I will be marrying you.” She laughs, a noise of pure shock, and Dorothea can't help her own giggle as she takes the ring and slides it onto Petra's finger. 

She was right. It fits her hand perfectly and the ruby glints in the warm light of the kitchen. “It's so beautiful,” Petra whispers. “I will have to be buying one for you too. I—thank you, my love.”

“You shouldn't be _thanking_ me,” Dorothea says with a laugh as she gathers Petra into her arms. They're both still crying like babies, but that's okay, she thinks, because they're here, now, _together_ , and they're officially engaged, and—if this train of thought continues, she'll positively explode, so she stops thinking. Petra pulls away to kiss her for a brief moment, and her thumbs brush at Dorothea's cheeks and come back smudged black with eyeliner. “I'm going to love you for the rest of my life, Petra, and it's going to be one of the best decisions I've ever made.”

Love is such a fickle thing, Dorothea thinks. In its juxtaposition, in the way it drives urges into her fingertips to reach out and pull Petra as close to her as possible just as it pours an ache into the cavities of her heart that wants her to move away and take her lover in with her eyes, because Dorothea could never get enough of her. She could never get enough of Petra, not even if she tried. And while she might have been bothered by this fact only a little while ago, she finds nothing but happiness settled into her chest.

_so that you reach all that my love orders for you / so that my shadow passes through your hair / so that they know by this the reason for my song._

**Author's Note:**

> seriously hope my recipient enjoyed this, and that everyone reading did as well! happy holidays, and merry christmas for all who celebrate ♡♡♡


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